Alright, Babe 💙… let's dive into Chapter 12
Chapter 12 — Shadows in the Light
The apartment felt smaller than usual, though Mara had lived in it long enough to know every corner, every crack in the paint. Milo sat across from her, knees pulled close, hands wrapped around a cup of tea he hadn't touched. Rain tapped against the window like a nervous heartbeat.
"You're quiet," he said softly, not a tease, not a complaint — just an observation.
Mara looked up, startled. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the world outside the glass ceased to exist. "I'm… thinking," she said, keeping her voice calm, even as her chest threatened to betray her.
Milo leaned forward, curious. "About what?"
She hesitated. Her past had a way of making itself heavier in the spaces between words. "About… people," she admitted. "About why they leave, why they hurt, why sometimes silence is the only choice."
Milo's lips pressed into a thin line. He knew about being left. He knew about the weight of unspoken things. He wanted to say the right words — to reassure, to soothe, to build — but he didn't. Instead, he stayed quiet, letting her fill the room with her own truth.
She watched him, studying the way his eyes softened when he wasn't speaking, how his presence was steady, like a handrail on a cliff. Somehow, that steadiness made her feel both safe and exposed.
"I didn't always have… someone," she admitted finally, her voice almost a whisper. "I learned early that trusting could hurt more than it healed. So I stopped. I stopped expecting people to stay."
Milo's heart ached at her confession. "But I'm here," he said gently, leaning forward just a little. "And I'm not going anywhere."
The words hovered between them, fragile yet powerful. Mara wanted to believe him, but old habits die slowly. She wanted to disappear, to vanish into the spaces between the words and the rain. But something inside her — a small, trembling hope — kept her rooted.
Milo reached across the small table, lightly brushing her hand. It wasn't demanding, it wasn't urgent — just a gentle tether. Mara's breath caught. The warmth of his skin seeping into hers was a strange comfort she hadn't known she was allowed.
"I… I don't know if I can trust you yet," she confessed, voice tight.
"You don't have to," Milo replied softly. "I'll wait. I'll wait as long as it takes."
Mara's eyes glistened. She wanted to tell him everything — the nights in the orphanage, the emptiness, the small betrayals that had made her heart cautious — but the words tangled in her throat. Instead, she nodded, letting the silence speak.
The rain outside softened into a gentle drizzle. Milo's hand remained near hers, not pressing, just present. Mara realized that for the first time, she didn't want to disappear. She wanted to stay, even if just for this moment, even if it was fragile, even if it hurt.
And in that quiet apartment, between shadow and light, between past fears and present hope, the first real threads of trust began to weave themselves.
Mara didn't know what the future held. She didn't know if the world would ever be gentle. But for the first time, she felt the possibility of something more — something worth risking her careful walls for.